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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

depended on me. There were moments when 1 felt
acutely conscious of the absolute nullity of my past
as a race-rider. It wasn't easy to discuss the event
when one was limited by a tacit avowal that one
had no idea what it would feel like. The void in
my experience caused circumlocutions. My only
authority was Stephen, whose well-known narrative
of last year's race I was continually paraphrasing.
The fact that the Ringwrell country was so far away
added to the anxious significance of my attempt.
How could we—humble denizens of an inglorious
unhunted region—hope to invade successfully the
four-day-a-week Immensity which contained the
Colonel and his coveted Cup?

Such was the burden of my meditations while I
lugged the garden roller up and down the tennis lawn
after tea, while the birds warbled and scolded among
the laurels and arbutuses In the latening March
twilight and Aunt Evelyn tinkled Handel's "Har-
monious Blacksmith39 on the .piano In the drawing-
room.

Ill

IT WILL have been observed that, in the course of
my career as a sportsman, I was never able to
believe that I could do a thing until I had done it.
Whatever quality It was which caused this tentative
progress toward proficiency, it gave intensity to every-
thing that I did. I do not claim that it was unusual'—
this nervousness of mine about my first point-to-point
race. On the contrary, I am sure that It was a normal
and exemplary state of mind. Anyone who cares to
do so is at liberty to make fun of the trepidations
which a young man carries about with him and

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